


In loving memory of Arthur P. Collins

by ArcheaMajuar



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, First Kiss, I, I'm not a religious person but I think that somebody could find the story offending, I'm not sure and I'm really sorry, M/M, blasphemy?, just saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar
Summary: He needed to calm down. He needed something completely different to think about, because musing over Collins, over his life, his past, his feelings that happened to be so much alike his own that he had been supressing since his youth.... With a shake of his head he tried to get rid of such thoughts, and then he inhaled and exhaled properly, and headed out for a short walk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ildivouber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ildivouber/gifts).

> English is not my mother tongue as I'm from the Czech Republic. There are mistakes in the story, I know, but I just don't have anyone around to give me their feedback on the fic, grammar and so on (but if you'd like to let me know about the mistakes, please, do so in the comments or just send me an email (you find it on my profile page), it'd be much appreciated)
> 
> I'm really sorry for the errors, but I hope you'll enjoy this work anyway :)

He, indeed, did not enjoy this part of his job, his mission, if you will. However, it had to be done and there was literally nobody else willing to undertake such a mournful task. In the past, Radar was quite capable of writing a decent condolence letter to the parents of a deceased soldier, but as the compassionate young man had been sent home, the position of the camp’s clerk passed to Klinger who Father Mulcahy would have never entrusted with such a delicate matter. Klinger was a kind man, of course, but his writing skills were, mildly put, dreadful.

For Father taking his responsibility most seriously, he as usually picked up a box with the solder’s belongings and searched through them, hoping he would find a diary that could possibly provide him with a substantial help with creating such a delicate letter. Mulcahy always did his best to write a unique text for every single mourning family, even though he knew it would be much easier to compose a really good one, copy it numerous times, and then he simply could start changing the names of soldiers’ and their families, however, Father would have never resigned to such a lazy approach.

So once again, he found himself hunting for a diary or at least some letters that would give him a hint on what kind of person this one particular corporal named Arthur P. Collins was.

A pleased smile splayed upon his face. He could consider himself lucky this time, because this Oregon born young man bore his diary even to the front line where he was wounded. Of course, the whole situation was not cheerful at all, but Father was glad he could do at least something for the parents, even if it meant that the letter would be a bit more personal and honest.

With the small book in his hand, he searched through the belongings again, only trying whether he would find anything else that would reveal him some information about Collins, and after a few seconds his fingers stumbled upon something very soft. Intrigued, he picked it and brought on the light, after which he realized it was a tiny suede bag, resembling a moneybag, but even without opening it Mulcahy knew there were not any coins in it. Under the careful touch of his digits, it felt like a ring.

So there probably was a wife.

Father sighed ruefully, put the box back to its place and with the diary and the bag safely nestling in his pockets, he headed to his tent. Once he was only a couple of steps from it, the chilly wind swayed his mind and he opted for grabbing a cup of hot coffee despite the fact the evening was nigh. After all, he doubted he would sleep tightly while being occupied with the thoughts concerning the death of a young man and his duty to inform the parents about the death of their son.

Finally seated behind his desk, Mulcahy firstly opened the moneybag and, indeed, an ordinary golden ring rolled out, stopping and falling on its side in the very next moment. The man of cloth took it in his hand, examining it momentarily as there really was not anything special about it. It seemed like a quite cheap thing, though clean and probably treasured considering Collins did not wear it, wisely not risking the possibility of losing it during a fight. He rather kept it hidden in the moneybag.

Moreover, it felt a bit worn out as if the soldier often touched it, maybe thinking of a lady that was guarding the other one, Mulcahy mused, experiencing another wave of sadness, frustration even, as he was becoming more and more fed up with the war that was dragging on for far too long, bringing about nothing else than death.

Despite his prayers for the war to end, still it was of no use, and the feeling of helplessness was creeping upon him on everyday basis.

Fortunately, he smiled a bit, there were those good people around the camp who did not hesitate to encourage him in his endeavours, or, like Hawkeye, who were willing not only to encourage him, or to give him advise, but also to literally cheer him up, and… and yes, Mulcahy sometimes welcomed that approach greatly, being sure that Hawkeye enjoys making him smile, laugh even. How come he was so sure, he did not know precisely, but it was probably that glint of joy in the surgeon’s eyes. The glint that seemed too real and too honest to be faked, and in addiction, Hawkeye was not one to be masking his true emotions, which was maybe another reason why Mulcahy was fond of the man so much.

Yes, he was truly a good friend to him, Father thought with an unconscious smile playing upon his lips, though as the ring slipped through his fingers, he remembered what he was up to. With a decisive movement of his hand, he put the ring inside the bag, placing it in the corner of his table, and then focused on the diary of Corporal Arthur P. Collins, but right away he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Barely did he manage to invite the guest in, Klinger was already standing in the doorframe.

“I’ve just filled the information in,” he explained and handed Mulcahy a file.

“Thank you, Klinger,” Father answered and briefly looked into it, skimming though the first page, frowning in confusion. “His parents are unknown?” he looked back at the clerk.

“Yes, Father, I’m sorry,” he seemed to be genuinely upset about the situation. “I tried to get at least something, but wasn’t successful yet… There’s just one sure thing and it is that he was born in Oregon and raised in an orphanage. Its name’s in the file,” he added somewhat sheepishly, and with a wish of goodnight, he retreated.

Being left alone, Mulcahy experienced a mix of emotions as he was relieved he did not have to write a condolence letter to Collins’ parents, because the one addressed to an orphanage would not demand such a high level of sympathy, not mentioning the uniqueness, though he cold not refrain from feeling sorry for the young man who did not get the chance to encounter his relatives, and now… now it was too late.

Thanks to the file Mulcahy realized Collins was on the front line for four months. Six weeks ago he was wounded, but not severely, and after few days they sent him back. Yesterday Collins was shot for the second time, and then transported by choppers to the 4077th, and he made it even to the operating room. Unfortunately, his heart gave up the second captain Hunnicatt put his gloves on. The following attempt of resuscitation was unsuccessful.

As Mulcahy delved into the information on the severity of Collins’ wounds, upon finishing the report he believed it was a little miracle the boy was still breathing when he got here. He must have been a real fighter, Father thought, which was only to be confirmed by the piece of text, commenting on the fact that Collins was promoted shortly after he came to Korea, because in no time he apparently proved to be a brave and capable soldier. Before he was fatally wounded, he was already aspiring to a higher rank. 

The name of the orphanage did not ring a bell to Mulcahy, but the whole address was there, so he could get to writing the letter right away. However, while looking at the marital status of the young man, the file told him that Collins was not married, which meant there were not any options of contacting the girl whom Collins cared about so deeply he gave her a ring, symbolizing the bond between them. The diary may have helped him to sort this situation out, so Mulcahy sipped the coffee, made himself as comfortable as it was on the stiff army chair as possible, and then he opened the small book at the first page.

In a matter of seconds, Father learned Collins received his dairy as a present for his twelfth birthday, but he was not very joyful about it.

_I’m stuck in here with no friends and I’m not doing anything interesting, anything fun. Only learning some boring things and working in the garden where nothing nice grows. I kept asking the gardener why there aren’t flowers, but I always got shouted at that I’m a nosy son of a whore… And when I asked what the whore meant, I got shouted at even more. I wish I could ask somebody what it means… _

It was not a fortunate way to start writing a diary, Father though in a mild amusement, and Collins was probably of the same opinion as the next narrative was written almost two years after the first one.

_Well, I guess it’d do no harm using my diary from time to time. I must keep it hidden from other kids at the orphanage, because I finally figured out for which purpose I should I got it. To be honest, I haven’t figured it out on my own, but a week ago a new teacher arrived here and somehow, he is very willing to talk to me, not like other teachers whom I seem to be invisible to. But after the third class we had together, he took me aside and asked me what was wrongs with me being so detached from others… I don’t even know why, but I told him. Everything. That I’ve never had friends because others were thinking I’m strange. I like being on my own, drawing, reading adventurous books, but also I’d like to go places, to see the whole States, but they do not understand. They think that they’ll leave orphanage and go to the closest city and beg on the street, because they have no future… But why? Because we are orphans? I just don’t see any sense in being… defeatist? Is it the right word? I don’t know, I’ve heard it somewhere… _

_Anyway, I wanted to say why I’d like to keep my diary and to remind myself the reason if case I’ll lose my motivation to do so in the future. _

_Mr. Ashley told me that I can put all my dreams and wishes here. To write them down as soon as I realize what I’d like to do. Or to see. _

_And I’ll do it. I want to fulfil my dreams and to live my life as I want to, not as others want me to. _

The determination of this fourteen-year-old boy made Father smile, but a gleam of sadness settled in his eyes. It was quite admirable that Collins wanted to step out of his own and his fellow orphans’ shadow and to try something new. To take a road less travelled.

Mulcahy now knew the letter to the orphanage was going to be quite brief and emotionless, because if he was about to believe the boy’s comments on it, they probably were not interested that any of their former inmates were dead. As depressing as Father’s conclusion was, he was not able to dive deeper into the feeling of gloom. He had already saw horrifying things and even though he’d really wanted to cry for this ill-fated Collins…

Father sighed, tired enormously at once. Each of his muscles ached, but the only thing making him anxious was the sudden emptiness sprunging inside his chest. Usually it was filled with calm, compassion, or anger, however, now, he felt hollow. Absolutely hollow, like he had exhausted the store of his emotions.

It was quite unsettling, but Mulcahy, chewing on the leg of his glasses, decided to give himself some time as he did not develop such a state for the very first time, hence he hoped he could cope with it in the next few days. However, for now, he refocused back on the diary, hesitating whether he was supposed to skip to the last pages and learn the name of Collins’ presumable girlfriend, or whether it was preferable to read the whole thing.

After a while, he opted for the latter as the diary was decently written and probably deserved to be appreciated by somebody, but deeply down in his soul he was well aware of the fact that he continued just out of his curiosity and maybe, maybe due a very subtle hint of empathy he experienced. It was almost impossible not to see some similarities between him and Collins as both of them were perceived as strangers by other children, hence both of them used to be loners, searching solace in books and dreams.

The interest in books sort of explained Collins’ rather skilled writing. His style gradually became captivating and Mulcahy found himself to be absorbed in the young man’s story about revealing the gardener’s collection of skulls. It must’ve been a terrifying experience for Collins, who was about sixteen years old when it happened, but the boy did not panic, maintained his temper until he stood in the Mr. Ashley’s office, and only then he finally freaked out because of his findings.

Assuming from what the boy had said, Mulcahy doubted whether the orphanage did anything about the creepy gardener, but to his surprise, the headmaster kicked him out immediately, though Collins was punished for miss conduct as he sneaked into gardener’s private place in the middle of the night.

_Looking back, I don’t regret anything. I did what was right and to my immense shock, it earned me some recognition among my inmates. Of course, most of them were still holding grudge against me for being a weird individual with strange occupations, but after all, I was able to make friends. Two of them, to be precise. I don’t believe we’ll ever be friends till the death tear us apart, but I’m grateful for them as they happened to be also fond of reading, moreover, they are really clever, but being afraid of the rest of children, they have never let it show. I’ll probably try to talk some sense into them, but… but I shall be careful. I can’t press to hard as I don’t want to lose them. Especially Olsen whose eyes have that beautiful shade of colour I’ve never seen before and whose smile always makes me feel lightheaded. I know, it’s odd, but I really enjoy being around him even when we’re doing our homework or when we’re just quietly reading. _

_Just tomorrow, we were discussing the topic that is very dear to me, and it is of our future outside the orphanage. We figured out the both of us are scared of it, but at once, we are eager to leave and to discover it. And to be free… I felt like I needed to hug him for finally finding somebody who shares my wish. It was a very happy moment in my life. Maybe the happiest ever._

Mulcahy’s smile that creped upon his face while reading only broadened when he finished the scrap. His joy was partly caused by the fact Collins’ words made him feel something again, so he was quite relieved this emotional emptiness did not last for long. He was glad, indeed, the boy found a companion, and the knowledge of it filled him with happiness, though tainted a bit by lurking sadness and… mild, very mild bewilderment Mulcahy was not willing to let it bother him in the slightest until the… the suspicion would be somehow… proved to be rightful.

Now Father hesitated once again. It was getting late, his coffee was hopelessly cold, and the man of cloth was not sure he needed to know more of the boy’s past. It was great Collins enjoyed at least a bit of happiness before he died. There are people who would pass away without being that fortunate.

Toying with the corner of the next page, he forced himself to stop, and just out of spite he opened the diary almost in the middle where his eyes laid upon a sentence in which the word _army _caught his attention.

Well, it will not do any harm to investigate on this topic, pondered Mulcahy, and within a span of few seconds, he decided to devote his time to gain this piece of information, and right after that he would indulge himself in some sleep.

He was also adamant to ignore the unsettling feeling in his guts, foreshadowing Mulcahy could retrieve something about Collins, which he would be absolutely helpless about. Despite that, despite the lump in his throat and the slightest, deep down buried hint of anticipation, he began to read a text, written quite long after the one mentioning Collins’ friend.

_It could’ve been worse. I’m sure about that, because I could’ve adhered to alcohol or various opiates, so I think of myself to be quite fortunate. Upon my departure from orphanage, I was still hoping to enjoy my freedom, and of course, work as I was eager to earn myself some money, but soon enough I understood I had nothing to offer. Well, I considered myself moderately fit and quite knowledgeable, but getting a job was for me rather challenging, so… I guess, I happened to be fairly relieved when the draft came. To be honest, I didn’t think of that much as I was focused on my ordinary life, but… Yes, now I’m lying on my poor, army cot, feeling enormously limited by army rules, however, I quickly started to appreciate the care and stability army is providing me with. I have nothing to fear (safe for getting shot, of course), but without aiming at bragging, after two weeks in there, I’m one of the best shooters around… _

_I’m not happy, but I’m secured and that’s all I need right now, especially in times in which I still suffer from Olsen’s abandon, though I understood entirely his actions. During the last weeks of being inmates in the orphanage, we still believed to leave it together and settle in the nearby town for a while, however… however, then people stating they were his parents showed up and offered him home. And a further study._

_They occurred to me to be decent people who looked quite like my dear friend, and even though their story why Olsen ended up in the orphanage sounded far-fetched, in the end I encouraged Olsen to go with them. What possibly could he loose?_

_But the feeling… the feeling when he hugged me for the last time… I’m still finding myself on the verge of tears whenever I think of my dear Olsen who was probably too dear to me, because… because I wanted… I… _

_Hell, I can’t even write about it how much ashamed and confused and… sad I’m… _

_What have you become, Arthur? What have you became…_

Mulcahy finished this scrap, eyes darting from one slightly visible stain on the page to another one, and another one… As embarrassment washed over his body, Mulcahy shut the diary close and threw it on the table like he got burnt. In distress, he also got up, cheeks hot, sweat forming on his forehead, heart pounding relentlessly. Pacing through his small tent, he clenched his trembling hands for a second, before he clasped them together nervously and suddenly halted, eyes wildly staring at the door.

He needed to calm down. He needed something completely different to think about, because musing over Collins, over his life, his past, his feelings that happened to be so much alike his own that he had been supressing since his youth.... With a shake of his head he tried to get rid of such thoughts, and then he inhaled and exhaled properly, and headed out for a short walk.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a huge relief. The fresh, cold air really brought some peace to his dazed mind, which Mulcahy immediately used to stick to his word and to go to sleep, into which he drifted quickly. However, in the morning, he did not feel fresh at all. Rather worn out and… empty. Again. He would even welcome if he was angry with himself that he did not refrain from reading more of Collins’ diary.

_He violated his privacy! _he thought quite simultaneously with musing over the fact that Collins was already dead, so while he would keep the delicate information to himself, there was no harm done.

But still he was a man of cloth who was supposed to follow doctrines and who was supposed to frown upon what Collins felt. But he did not. He was intrigued, fascinated even, and since he had woken up, he literally yearned to read something more, to learn whether Collins had ever pursued his… desires.

So in the end, Mulcahy felt something, though he was afraid of admitting it.

The embarrassment stuck with him till the very morning, lurking under the surface all day, and accompanied by guilt and an unnerving fear, it was driving him crazy even at the midnight.

It was not right to exploit Collins’ memories to satisfy his curiosity, and because he would not be able to forgive himself indulging in such matter even more and jeopardizing the vow he had given, he was determinated not to open the ever diary again. He was supposed to inform the soldier’s relative about his death, and while there were no known relatives, he was going to inform only the orphanage. No more violating Collins’ privacy, no more…

He sighed tiredly while sitting in a mess tent, cupping a mug of coffee.

“May I join you, Father?” 

Bemused, Mulcahy looked up only to lay his eyes upon fairly tired face of Hawkeye Pierce. Not really thinking about the question, he nodded at the surgeon, though he dwelled for a while on whose appearance was more worn out.

“Good morning, Captain Pierce,” he managed to say despite there was not anything good about it. “You have been on duty?”

Hawkeye nodded while drinking from his cup of coffee, and then he folded his arms on the table, looking at Father curiously, yet with a huge deal of care, which Father barely noticed as the intrusive thoughts got a hold on him once again. And not only these, for there was a dilemma he kept fighting with.

“You look troubled,” Hawkeye suggested, blue eyes bright with kind interest that suddenly caught Father’s attention, forming pleasant warmth inside his chest. A very subtle smiled touched him lips.

It was just nice to know there was somebody genuinely intrigued in things bothering him, though he was not sure whether he was allowed to speak of it, or… or whether he wished for it in the first place. As he was weighing his option, his gaze lowered to the table once more, but when Father peeked at Hawkeye to assure himself the surgeon was still interested (he was), he sighed and shifted on the bench quite uncomfortably.

Hawkeye was one of the wisest people he had even encountered, and bearing this in mind, Father decided to discuss the matter with him, but without revealing any details. That could work.

“Do you remember that soldier who arrived to the camp, still alive despite the severity of his wounds?” Mulcahy asked him and sipped on his coffee.

“I do... He made it remarkably far, but… unfortunately, it wasn’t far enough,” Hawkeye recalled the fate of Collins correctly. “You have some problems with the letter, I guess…”

“I’m not sure, Hawkeye,” Father admitted, and encouraged by the surgeon’s in question raised eyebrows, he continued: “The name of the poor man is Arthur P. Collins. His parents are unknown and he spent his whole childhood in the orphanage which, of course, is going to be the receiver of the letter and Collins’ belongings, however… He had a ring on his finger, but he wasn’t married,” and how possibly could he be, for he was not fond of women, an unsettling thought crossed Mulcahy mind.

As Mulcahy fell silent, Hawkeye moved on the bench, bracing his chin with a hand, but Father supposed he did not intent to express boredom, considering the surgeon must have been simply deadly tired.

“I’m sorry, Father, my brain feels like mashed potatoes, so let me clear it up for me… The problem is that usually, as far as I’m aware, if there’s a diary of a dead soldier, you always read a bit to get to know the guy in order to avoid the letters to be dull, and also to avoid describing the soldier as a great man, even though his parents probably know that their boy has always had issues with authorities, or he was… not a good person,” Hawkeye’s voice was oddly monotonous, but Mulcahy was quite touched by his determination to help him despite his exhaustion.

As soon as Father nodded, Hawkeye spoke up again:

“However, usually, you count on the parents who after receiving the letter, would inform the soldier’s girlfriend, but unknown parents, hardly could you rely on the orphanage to pass the massage… They probably don’t even care about their former inmates, not mentioning their love interests,” a hint of bitterness tainted Hawkeye’s sort of gravel voice.

“That’s true, I suppose.”

“So… you’re struggling with… with the idea of reading more, maybe even the whole diary to retrieve the name of the girl?” asked Hawkeye a drained the rest of the coffee from his mug, then locking their eyes again.

“More or less, Captain, yes,” Mulcahy sounded almost surprised how well Hawkeye understood him. “You know, I am always guilty when reading someone’s diary, but as long as it’s just few pages it is not difficult to console myself that I am doing it for the parents, though not directly. But with Collins… I have already read more than I should have,” his voice trailed off as he felt that sting of guilt, lowering his gaze once again.

“I’m not a priest, you know that, but to be honest, Father,” said Hawkeye, waiting for Mulcahy to look at him, almost resembling a lost puppy. “If you have the time and energy to go through the diary, I guess, there’s nothing wrong about trying all options to inform everybody who could be emotionally attached to Collins. In other words,” fell Hawkeye silent again, giving Mulcahy a little smile, “In other words, if you feel that searching for the name of his beloved one is the right thing, don’t let anything hinder your efforts, because… because if there’s anything you’re teaching people here, it is to follow your faith, but more importantly, to follow your heart.”

Father reciprocated Hawkeye’s sincere smile, even though he was not sure he heard what he hoped for.

“Thank you, Hawkeye,” he said honestly though, “It’s very kind of you, trying to help me despite your… state,” he gestured towards Captain who seemed to be literally fighting his eye’s endeavours to shut down.

“Anytime, Father,” ensured him Hawkeye. “Always at your service,” he added with a playful twist of his mouth, before he stood up and groaned with pain as he stretched his back.

“Is it that bad?” was Mulcahy immediately alerted, and without awareness of doing it,, suddenly he was right next to Hawkeye, ready to offer him some support.

“I’ve been worse,” Hawkeye breathed out, getting used to the pain a bit, eyes closed and face pale as a sheet of paper. “It’ll go away eventually…”

“Until it returns with just a more brutal force?” suggested Mulcahy sceptically. “You’re slowly ruining yourself…”

Hawkeye was silent, which Mulcahy interpreted as he was still in huge pain, or he did not know what to say because Mulcahy was right. Unable to bear that distressed expression in Hawkeye’s face, without asking him Father just stood behind him, grabbing him around his ribcage, pulling him on his own chest, and pressing quite intensively on a spot between the neck and shoulders with his chin, he lifted Hawkeye up. It was not a piece of cake as Captain was heavier that himself, but he held him just for mere seconds. After he managed the first part, he lowered Hawkeye on the floor again, before relocating his chin on the other side of Hawkeye’s neck. Then he lifted up the man again, cracking of Hawkeye’s back uncomfortably audible. However, the painful groan swiftly morphed into a pleasure expressing moan that awoke something deeply, very deeply locked within Mulcahy. He shivered with an unexpected wave of arousal, washing over him when Hawkeye was still leaning against his chest, all warm and pliable…

A bolt of fear and embarrassment made him realized what he had done, but he did not regret any of that as it seemed Hawkeye was free of pain, at least for a while, because the issues Hawkeye had with his back were so long-lasting, it could be cured only by a regular exercise, maybe massages, and avoiding eighteen-hours-long shifts in the operating room.

He encouraged Hawkeye to narrow himself, then Mulcahy faced him, trying to decipher from Hawkeye’s deadly tired face whether he was mad at him due to this under discussed intervention.

“You’re unbelievably quick in repaying favours,” Hawkeye panted, this time with relief audible in his voice as he looked at Father who found his gaze to be at most fond. “I know you’re a man of many hidden talents, but this one is pure gold,” he smiled affectionately and Mulcahy felt like nothing in the world and above it could stop him from smiling as well, warmth spreading through his chest and to his face at the praise. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Hawkeye,” repeated Mulcahy what Hawkeye had said to him few minutes ago, wondering whether Hawkeye also had felt so scared and thrilled at once, balancing of the verge of running away, embarrassed for the years, yet staying here, looking into the pair of blue eyes with heart pounding in his chest, feeling so… so alive.

However, he did not understand it as there was not much going on, they just helped each other, but… but the glint in Hawkeye’ exhausted eyes, the fondness flaring in them… it went straight to his heart, to his soul, ignoring all the arguments why it was not supposed to. He realized he was quite breathless when he wanted to spoke up again:

“Are you going to make it to the Swamp?” he asked despite the ridiculously strong want to prolong the moment as long as it would be feasible.

“Yeah… I think so,” nodded the surgeon and stretched his back a bit, testing it. “God, it feels way better,” he smiled broadly at Mulcahy. “You’re hands seems to be quite magical, and you should take me to the word as I’m a surgeon, I recognize deft hands when I spot them.”

“You’re primarily a very tired surgeon, Captain,” remarked Mulcahy while struggling with receiving praise.

“Good night then, Father,” changed Hawkeye’s smile back to a little one.

“Good night, Hawkeye,” Mulcahy stepped aside, watching Captain to reach the door, and subsequently to head for the Swamp. 

For a second, Mulcahy pondered sitting down on the bench again, giving himself some time to get together, but there was almost no danger of bumping into somebody in the camp at such an hour, so he took his chances, hurried out of the mess tent and without anybody seeing him, he safely returned to his tent. His gaze laid upon Collins’ diary, marooned in the very corner of the table where he put it the day before.

After what he had experienced in the mess tent, he found the option of reading something more of Collin’s scraps less dangerous than allowing himself to dwell on his own thoughts and feelings. Moreover, he was sort of encouraged to do it by Hawkeye whose advice he had always treasured, but… But he was frightened of what he could make out of Hawkeye’s hint to follow his heart. Usually, he was not struggling so badly with it, it was… just…

How could he follow his heart if he deep down knew that the willingness to find the name of Collins’ love interest was just on the surface? That it was only an excuse to learn more about the life Collins had been living, more of his… preferences that could be similar to his own? The need for the fleeting feeling of companionship, the need to be understood, the need to see what he had been denying himself for the whole life, these were the true reasons Mulcahy wanted to continue reading Collins’ diary.

What the death of one man is able to change, Mulcahy mused over the fact that he had been able to ignore all of his desires for years and it was hard to believe that in a span of two days it started catching up on him. Like he was destined to put his hands on Collins’ diary, to read It, and to be challenged by it as it was some kind of a test.

That would make sense, he thought, not being entirely cheerful about the idea. If it was meant to be a test, he had already failed as he found the previous parts of the diary intriguing, and the presumable course of Collins’ search for a partner did not occur disgusting at all to him. Quite the opposite.

He was just confused, completely lost in his own thoughts and bewildered by his intentions, for them not being utterly selfless. He could opted for praying, for asking the might Lord for help, but in such matter, he doubted he was even allowed to ask for anything than for mercy. And then… then there was the advice he received from Hawkeye.

To follow his heart whose voice was loudly and clearly resonating inside his head.

It tasted like disappointment, betrayal even, to everything he had ever believed in when he reached for the small book and opened it on a scrap, written shortly after Collins was relieved.

_It’s been three weeks since I’m living on my own again. This time I decided to visit a real city, Portland, and to try to find any kind of job here, and… I was lucky. I was unbelievably, ridiculously lucky. _

_Thanks to some money I amassed in the army, I could afford to live for at least three months in a cheap hotel, but now… it seems like I don’t even have to. It started out pretty simply. I was sitting in one of the parks in Portland, skimming through job opportunities in newspaper, and as soon as I lowered them to list another page, I saw him. A beautiful creature with sand blond hear and bright blue eyes, smiling shyly at from the other side of the path. Honestly, I thought my heart would jump out of my chest as it was excited so much at the sight._

_At first, I thought he was just gazing somewhere behind me, maybe at some nice girl, but once I looked around, his smile broaden and he moved toward me, taking my breath entirely away. He asked me then, whether he could join me as I was apparently looking quite at loss. I agreed, of course! I was in the army for so long, and back then it was impossible to show my true colours, so now… when it was quite obvious he was interested in me (I just sensed it) I didn’t hide my preferences either. I was open with him, chatty, and after a while, we were laughing at some silly joke I made. Or maybe he said it, I can’t recall as I was totally fascinated by his blue eyes… and his perfect smile._

_Then it was rather quick as he unscrupulously asked if I was looking for a job, which I confirmed with explanation regarding me being on orphan with nothing to offer, having only an army training. That brightened up his face enormously. Only then we introduced ourselves, and I, knowing now his name was Riley Allen, was informed that his father is looking for something like a personal guard. _

_So here I am, Arthur P. Collins, the absolutely nobody who was by a complete coincidence hired as a guard of Dr Leland Horace Allen, the most honourable senior doctor of whole Portland. Unexpectedly, the old man liked me immediately as he was very fond of every man having the proper army training who was able to think on his own (not being somehow brainwashed, I reckon), respectively, he said that there was still a spark in my eyes, signalizing not only I’m not dead on the inside, but also that I’m an intelligent person, which he liked a lot. _

_I was baffled by his words as nobody (but my long lost Olsen) has even found me… worthy of any attention. I made quite a decent soldier and great shooter, but I’ve never had this urge to climb up the rank ladder… _

_Anyway, because I was rather strong, fit and witty (as Dr Allen put it), I was hired as his guard, compelled to accompany him wherever it would be required. In two days I’m moving to their house where I’m going to get my own room, even my own gun, and my own payment. It still seems crazy to me… _

_I must thank Riley again as soon as I see him. I’ll thank him with a big hug… but I’m not sure if it would be enough as… as I… I know that Riley’s parents know he’s queer, and… and they do not mind. _

_They do not mind… _

“They do not mind,” Mulcahy muttered under hs breath like he was not able to fully comprehend the words. There were people who were not like him, and still they did not mind, they did not think it was an illness, maybe even a sin…? It sprung up so much hope within Mulcahy, he felt dizzy for a few seconds. Of course, he knew that Hawkeye or BJ were very open-minded people who would not loath him after learning that about him, but… It was just nice to hear there were more people like that.

With a small smile, he returned his attention to the diary, contemplating whether he was allowed to continue as he had already discovered the name of the boy, but... what if there was anybody else, he wondered, getting back to reading Collins’ scraps, ignoring how eager he was with anticipation.

_I asked Riley again about his parents last evening. He assured me they do not belong to the most of people. They love their son the way he is, and they are as supportive as they can be. Riley is a year younger than me and currently, he is quite satisfied with his job at his father’s office, working as a nurse, which he deliberately studied. I think it’s awesome he pursued his dream… Yes, he had some help from his father, but sometimes, you just need a bit of help. A push. As I did, for now we can be together in MY room. He is reading his favourite book on my bed, I’m sitting in my chair, writing mostly, but also taking subtle looks at him as… as he is completely outstanding even like this, in plain pants, blue shirt, barefoot, sand blond hair dishevelled from constant hand combing… his eyes intently reading, skipping from line to line, red lips pressed against each other in tight concentration, cheeks pinkish…_

_He is beautiful. The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen and I… I think I’m falling in love with him. We know each other for a week now, but it’s like we’ve been friends for ages. He is smart, witty, kind, hardworking, tall, slim, handsome, cute… He is perfect._

For some reason Mulcahy was sure he knew the feeling, he knew what Collins’ was referring to, though it occurred odd to him as until now he had never considered himself to be in love. But his heart was pounding violently, his chest clenching with emotions, with anticipation and insecurity at once, hands shaking a bit, face flushed and… and yet, he was smiling absentmindedly.

Was it possible to fall in love without noticing it? Ignoring blossoming feelings, ignoring all the signs because he might have not known how… or whether… Well, he definitely was not allowed to have such feelings in the first place, not speaking about acting on them.

Still confused, but feeling somewhat light and at peace, like he was In some kind of trans, during which he could not do anything but stare in front of himself, enjoying the flood of pleasant and almost unknown emotions, and… and thinking of the man whom he had fallen for. There were no doubts it was him as literally nobody ever had been closer to him, who had been so interested in listening when Mulcahy was rambling about his problems. It seemed they could not differ more, yet they were able to understand each other. 

It did not feel any strange to think he was in love with Hawkeye.

It felt nice, and for now, he put all of his fears, all of thought about sins and betrayal aside just to savour this joy through his body spreading realization, and floating on the waves of fondness, he returned to the diary to get to know whether Collins’s feelings were reciprocated.

_I don’t know if I should keep such delicate information in my diary, but I can’t help it. I love capturing the most significant moments with words, I know how to the right emotions in them, I love... I love describing how my life has changed since I’ve met Riley. _

_I’m honestly happy right now, because… because once I finished my last scrap, my dear Riley came over to me and quite boldly, almost rudely, read what I had written, but despite my extensive endeavours to explain he simply said he’d felt the very same way since we’d met. And I am… coming from the state of panic right to the state of total euphoria… I was just standing there, looking into his bright blue eyes full of love and admiration; I closed the gap between us and kissed him like my life depended on it. _

_For years I’ve been only imagining how another pair of lips would feel on my own, but it exceeded my expectations by far, as Riley’s lips were heavenly soft, tender and so responsive… In a span of few seconds, we were kissing each other, and I’m sure I let out a tiny whimper when I noticed his hands in my hair, and then also on my chest. I mirrored his gesture, pulling him a bit closer, feelings his body against mine. He smelled so good, I recall, like a young man, of course, but I loved it so much… _

_Deep down I was eager to continue, to immediately explore our mutual interest, but I managed to stop, to look right into his hazy eyes, and then I saw how pleased his smile was… and I fell for him once again. _

_“I’ve been in love with you since… since I saw you sitting on that bench in the park,” he whispered, caressing my cheek with a thumb while making his confession. “You looked so cute, but so lost… I couldn’t bear seeing somebody so handsome to be sad, so I decided to cheer you up, maybe to help you…”_

_“I’m so grateful you did,” I said to him, ruffling his blond hair, and then kissing his forehead lovingly. “I’ve been very fortunate to meet you, my dear... my love,” I added, witnessing the enamouring way Riley’s face lit up before I kissed him again, and even though I wanted to wait, to take our time… as soon as his leg got between mine and I felt his bare hand, slipping under my shirt, I quickly changed my mind. _

_Despite our kiss, my following groan was audible and definitely loud enough to be heard outsider my room, but we were fortunate that Riley’s parents weren’t at home. I was trembling with rapidly growing need, which almost reached its peak just the moment I felt Riley’s manhood, hard as a rock, against my thigh. I kissed him even more hungrily and… and I grabbed his ass, grinding into him, at first into his leg, then… then Riley shifted and with a delicious moan pressed his hard member against mine. _

_It was the first time I really felt another man’s manhood so close to mine, and the feeling was… I… I can’t describe how beautiful it was. With Riley standing so close to me, with his arousal touching mine though thin layers of cloth … Soon enough we were just panting, holding onto each other for support… _

_I loved it. _

If it was a test, I failed gloriously, thought Mulcahy, closing the diary with trembling fingers, breath uneven and face red with shame and arousal, instantly regretting he had engaged in such thing, in reading such… such decadent piece of text. It was like sobering up; like a bolt of shame awoke him from his emotional delirium he was so happy in. But now…

Now Mulcahy put his face into his hands, shaking violently, sweating. He was not able to recall he had ever brought himself into this state, in which he only merely knew what to do, but that… that would definitely meant he… he wanted… this. He wanted to feel the same Collins’ felt, he wanted somebody to hold him the same way, to touch him in the same way, and he desired this man to be Hawkeye. He gritted his teeth together, hopelessly trying to clear him mind off thoughts concerning Hawkeye on the verge of ecstasy, moaning, gripping on him, pressing into him…

A tiny whimper escaped through his lips as his own manhood for some reason twitched, getting more and more interested in the situation, brushing against the fabric of his pants. The vibrations such a tiny move sent into all parts of his body made him gaps, forcing his hips to move purposely to achieve more of this blissful friction that was clouding his mind, reducing him just to a quietly, but needy moaning and trembling mess. Despite what his rationality was telling him, what his consciousness was shouting at him, he only managed to put his fist to his mouth, preventing himself from making any louder sounds, while he kept almost pathetically fighting his urge to grab himself through his pants.

He had made an oath, he swore he would refrain from all pleasures of the body, and here he was, unable to decide whether there was a chance to get back, to be forgiven what he had already done, or whether he should succumb to this temptation, to admit whom he was, to accept his true self, yearning currently for release, but also for love, for intimacy… for Hawkeye, he thought and with it, quite unexpectedly, his hips moved for the very last time, quivering, and Mulcahy let absolutely helplessly the bliss to drag him in, flooding him with so much delight, he could not breathe, could not do anything but experience the most intense ecstasy in his whole life.

When the reality kicked in again, Mulcahy was left with a nice feeling of release, but his face still shone with shame as he was well aware he had reached the climax with Hawkeye’s name upon his lips, mind brimming with absolutely inappropriate images of the surgeon.

With Lord and his faith… He had betrayed them with prioritizing his bodily needs to his oath. He had sinned, and even though he was sort of devastated, now… now he could only hope to be forgiven. It was not possible to take it back as he knew he wanted to… give in. Oh, how much he wanted to give in...

However, he was worried about another thing regarding Hawkeye and him – his capability of looking right into his eyes. After this experience, rather pleasant experience, he would be red and sweating and trembling in the very moment Hawkeye would glance at him fondly. To ruin their friendship was the last thing Mulcahy would have ever wanted to do, moreover, it was not feasible to ever admit he… he had sinned after reading a dead man’s diary.

He was such a terrible person, struck him the thought with a force so punishing, he suddenly was on the verge of tears. He managed to regain his self-control right away, but his self-respect was long lost.

Mulcahy really did not know what to think or do anymore as he got himself into such mess. He doubted there was a way out, though as soon as he heard the sound of approaching choppers accompanied by the sudden noise in the camp, he immediately was draw out of his wrecked state. Thinking rationally once again, with a sting of embarrassment he changed into new pants, and then rushed out of the tent, caring the equipment appropriate for a priest, even though he, for the very first time, hesitated when using them.

But only once. After that, he just followed his instincts, he did his best, and in the end it did not feel that different, because… because the wounded soldiers did not care what he had done, they reached out to him for support, which he still was able and willing to provide them with.

“You’re doing great, Father.”

Surprised, Mulcahy looked up only to spot Hawkeye, who was just getting rid of his gloves, his eyes tired, but warm.

“I mean it,” Hawkeye assumed Mulcahy was silent because he did not believe him, or was simply puzzled. “The two wounded privates. When they arrived, they were at each other throats, blaming each other for getting shot in their legs. Now they’re chitchatting in the pre-op about baseball as they discovered they’re fans of the same team.”

“They figured it out on their own…” a little smile appeared on Mulcahy’s lips at the praise, pleasant warmth spread through his chest. Nothing else, only pleasant warmth when he found himself in the centre of Hawkeye’s attention.

“Do not underestimate yourself so much,” interrupted him Hawkeye, determined to talk some sense into the man whom he had such a great deal of respect for. “You’ve helped them, showed them the way. That’s what counts as well.”

“Thank you,” pink touched Mulcahy’s cheeks and despite the fact he was blushing, he was able to maintain eye contact, to stand upright, slowly admitting he had done something right. He was just flattered, and grateful to the moon Hawkeye had decided to recognize his today’s deeds as he could choose a better day to appreciate him.

“You’re welcome, Father,” Hawkeye gave him another smile under the mask before he added softly: “Go get some rest. There are only the two of guys with merely bruised legs.”

“Well… alright, I think I’ll go then,” he accepted Hawkeye’s suggestion, realizing shortly after how tired he was. It was not a wonder as he had been awake for at least thirty hours…

Hawkeye seemed to be satisfied with the answer and he returned to the operating room while Mulcahy headed for his tent, currently grateful for his exhaustion that would hopefully put him asleep the moment he touched the pillow. And so it was.

Upon his awakening, he felt a lot better than during any of the previous days. A great amount of sleep consoled his bewildered mind, allowing him to think more clearly. He dressed up, and as Mulcahy opened the door, he found out the sun was warm upon his skin, gentle breeze only contributing to the illusion of a peaceful day in the middle of the war. Mulcahy welcomed it though, because he simply could stride around the camp, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, purely enjoying pleasant weather while he was fighting with the clouds inside of his head, but… but truth be told, with the sun, optimistically shining on him, it was a bit easier task than he would have expected.

Suddenly, he was content with himself. Even though he had sinned, he still was able to do his job without being constantly eating up alive with guilt. Also in the past he had learnt his work was not based solely on his faith, but mostly on his nature, and on his ability to treat different people differently, in other words, how it was under this special circumstances needed, which Hawkeye reminded him the day before.

Maybe his status of a priest was jeopardized, however, nobody knew that. It felt disgraceful, but he did not intend to admit anything until the end of the war as he wanted to stay here. He wanted to help the best way he could and if he was to leave his clergy status, he would be probably sent home, which was unimaginable.

It had to wait for another reason as Mulcahy… As he kept walking, wheels inside his head reeling, he developed an idea he sort of liked. It might have been calculated, but it seemed like his best alternative, suitable for his aching heart, and also for his wounded self-respect. He had decided to try to pursue his love interest as he comprehended Hawkeye was the only person in the world he had even been interested to such extent he was able to admit he fell in love with him.

And if, against all odds, there was a slim chance Hawkeye would have ever considered him an… an option, he would… he would let it happen. Of course, Mulcahy noticed the way Hawkeye was looking at him, though without any experience, he was not sure whether there was just fondness in his eyes, or whether it could have been more. He simply did not know, but he imagined Collins’ diary could be a great of help. On one hand, he was going to ask Hawkeye to give him some advice on writing the letter, because he was still quite nervous about addressing the boy and…

…and he probably should finish the diary to gather all the information regarding Collins’ return to the army and his transfer to Korea.

Now, he thought of the diary as of a lead that showed him a way. There was no any other explanation for Collins ending up in 4077th where it was Mulcahy who was supposed to deal with the condolence letter. It was him who gathered the boy’s diary and learnt something as anybody else would have probably turned appalled and disgusted, but Mulcahy was grateful. In the end, he was grateful he was shown another way of living his life; it opened his eyes only to see that he was in love.

And asking Hawkeye to come to his tent where he would land him the diary, a bit forcing him to realized what kind of a man Collins’ was, it could give Mulcahy a hint whether there was even the slightest possibility that Hawkeye could feel the same way. However, if he was not interested, Mulcahy was adamant he would pray for forgiveness, hoping that one blunder, one hesitation would not entirely spoil his devotion in the eyes of Lord, though he was prepared to face the consequences in case his sins were too serious to be forgotten.

Deep down he perceived neither of the ideas honourable, though he did not see any other way he could staggered out of this imbroglio.

A shiver of anticipation surged through his body as he entered the mess tent, still quite reluctant to believe what he had brought upon himself, but he strongly desired to execute the plan. However, before that he opted for having a lunch, then finishing the diary, and probably also writing the condolence letter to the orphanage despite he suspected they would not acknowledge it in any case.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of Collins’ diary was intense. Mainly the part concerning Collins’ quite thorough depiction of the first time he and Riley made love, which brought a dark shade of red upon Mulcahy’s face, moreover, he was clutching at the corner of the page so desperately, he managed to tear it a bit, but he did not pay attention to it back then.

Upon closing the diary, knowing like everything about Collins, he felt utterly sad, but sort of proud at once, being convinced that Arthur P. Collins was a remarkably brave, loving and responsible person. Whoever got to know him was quite lucky, and Mulcahy considered himself privileged to be allowed to encounter him, rather his personality, unfortunately after his death.

He put the diary aside, fetching himself a sheet of paper to write the first, less demanding letter to the orphanage, and upon finishing it, he let Klinger to carry out the rest as there were other things he wanted to attend to - dinner, a cup of coffee, and then, hopefully, Hawkeye…

XXXXX

Well, it went quite smoothly at first. Hawkeye was playing chess when Mulcahy reached the Swamp and asked him whether he could be willing to provide him with a piece of advice on the matter they had discussed before in the mess tent. The surgeon was all wit and overall in a very good mood, which created a small smile upon Mulcahy’s face as he was always pleased to see Hawkeye so calm and well-natured, and as soon as Hawkeye suggested he would finish up the game and then stop by Father’s tent, Mulcahy felt relieved.

Of course, the more delicate part of the plan was still about to be carried out, however, he managed to sooth his nerves even upon Hawkeye’s arrival. Captain grabbed the other chair located in the tent, put it so he was sitting against Father, and then his heavenly blue eyes locked with Mulcahy’s ones, full of worries and hope.

“So what’s that you wanted to talk about,” Hawkeye said, and even though he went straight to the point of their appointment, Mulcahy appreciated the mild tone Hawkeye used.

“I’ve already written the letter to the orphanage about Collins’ death,” Mulcahy revealed. “However, I… I acquired the name and I’d be able to look up the address of Collins’ love interest, but… I’m quite struggling with…”

“You’re blushing, Father,” an amused smile creped upon Hawkeye’s at most radiant face, though there was not any mischief visible within his features, only a touch of adoration, maybe tenderness Mulcahy realized, probably blushing even deeper.

“It just…” he stuttered as the structure of the plan started falling apart because of him, not being capable of talking properly under Hawkeye’s affectionate gaze. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to recompose himself, and then he decided it would be for the best if he would let Hawkeye read at least one scrap of the diary.

He was a smart guy, he would understand quickly, thought Mulcahy. With trembling fingers he handed the diary to Hawkeye, who took it, looking a bit puzzled.

“I’m afraid, I will not be able to explain myself… adequately,” Mulcahy said. “Read something from the middle, it… it will cast some light on… the thing I’m having issues with.”

“Are you sure?” sounded Hawkeye a bit sceptical. “Are you sure I’m the right man that should be reading this? Such a personal thing?”

“Yes, Hawkeye, I’m sure,” Mulcahy nodded. “I’m sure you’ll understand it way better than anybody else I know.”

Upon these words, the surgeon seemed to be even more baffled, but he did not protest anymore, turning his attention to a page within the diary, while Mulcahy was contemplating whether he did not exposed too much, but only then when he noticed which page Hawkeye was reading.

Without a hint of doubt, it was the one with a missing corner.

Mulcahy’s breath hitched, feigning it with a sudden outburst of caught. He did not know whether Hawkeye reacted to it somehow as Father turned away from him, facing now his table, placing his hands on it before he at least reached for a blank sheet of paper. He expected Hawkeye would read a scrap regarding Collins’ first meeting with Riley, or maybe something about Olsen, but… but… Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, he could only try not to go entirely red with shame, however, even that seemed to be a vain attempt.

He intended to focus on the paper as he could at least start with the letter, to write the name, maybe some regular phrases at the beginning, but it did not go well as he failing at not peeking at Hawkeye who was still silently reading the diary, and Mulcahy was able to assume only a couple of things from Hawkeye’ expression. At first, he was a bit surprised, and then Mulcahy witnessed as a mild shade of pink that was spreading from the surgeon’s neck higher, to his cheeks, and… and…

Mulcahy gulped almost audibly and tore his gaze away the second the other man, the unbelievably handsome man shifted on the chair and crossed his legs, consciously or subconsciously accommodating his posture to feel more comfortable.

“Have you read this part?”

Not pondering lying at all, Mulcahy nodded, distrusting his voice that would have been probably as hoarse as Hawkeye’s right now.

“But… but you do not disapprove, do you?”

“No, I…” Mulcahy braced himself and looked at Hawkeye whose face was flushed, and he seemed to be really intrigued by what he had been reading. “No, I do not disapprove. This… this one particular part is not the cause of my struggle even though I can imagine almost everybody would think otherwise.”

Hawkeye did not answer, lowering his eyes to the now closed diary.

“But as one of my friends said, following my heart is sometimes the only right thing to do,” Mulcahy added quietly, being subsequently taken aback by Hawkeye’s weak smile, playing upon his lips. Suddenly, he was looking so small and insecure, it shaken up Mulcahy a lot.

“But sometimes it’s not possible, my friend,” replied Hawkeye, voice still a bit hoarse, but now it was overflowing with different emotions, vibrating with their rawness, causing Mulcahy to shiver and look away, unable to bear Hakweye’s intense gaze.

It was… it felt… it felt like Hawkeye knew exactly what Mulcahy was thinking about, like… like the feelings were somehow mutual, like he was suffering from the pain he was in love with a priest who was denied to be loved. Mulcahy gulped once again, carefully looking up.

“Nothing is impossible, Hawkeye,” he heard himself whisper, cheeks burning and heart pounding hard. “That’s something I have learnt from you. Nothing is impossible if there is will.”

The genuine surprise emanating from Hawkeye’s face made Mulcahy’s heart jump as it basically confirmed they both were talking about the same thing. About the thing they both wanted.

“When you said that you were sure I’d able to understand Collins…” Hawkeye’s eyes wandered around the tent before he gained enough courage to look at his friend, “what have you meant by that?”

“That’s left for you to tell me,” did not Mulcahy think much about what he was saying, his heart taking over his rationality when being so close to Hawkeye who just… who just seemed to be waiting for ages for Mulcahy to realize he was in live with him. They were sitting here, sheepishly looking at each other even though it was not really in the nature of any of them, but under the delicate circumstances it was understandable they behaved so shyly, though Mulcahy’s innate bravery helped him to overcame it and to act. Or to make Hawkeye act… “or to show me,” he added daringly.

“But what about your vow, you’re…” inquired Hawkeye gravely, eyes bewildered.

“I’ve made peace with that,” Mulcahy answered while their eyes were still locked. “If there is…” his voice wavered when he realized what he was going to say, but he did not refrain from it like a coward. “If there was a chance somebody is in love with me, and I’m in love with… him,” he continued with slight hesitation pauses, but as Hawkeye kept staring at him, hanging on every uttered word, he managed to confess the whole truth: “I would not want to run away.”

He did not doubt Hawkeye comprehended what he said, but he looked so unsure about how to react, it was cute and unnerving at once, because Mulcahy sort of counted on Hawkeye’s experience, that he would… do something, but that was not happening at all and the silence was stretching, which was irritating and unbearable for Mulcahy who just had opened his heart to the other man who managed only to stare at him.

So in the end, it was Mulcahy who leaned closer to Hawkeye, eyeing carefully each movement in the surgeon’s face, but as there appeared nothing similar to disapproval or shock within his features, soon enough Mulcahy was brushing Hawkeye’s lips with his own, tentatively, maybe a bit clumsily, but he had to do something before the intrusive thoughts would occur, robbing him of all the courage, coaxing him to drop such ridiculous endeavours.

The softness and warmth of Hawkeye’s lips caught him off guard, and at first he could not think of anything else, noticing also stubble and the subtle manly scent that sent echoes of arousal through his body. The moment he shivered, Hawkeye moved. Especially his limbs moved as Mulcahy soon left out a relieved breath when a warm hand was placed on his neck, the second on his face, the it slipped into his hair, drawing him even closer.

Every Hawkeye’s gesture, every touch, every noise he made while he kept kissing Mulcahy was indicating how desperate the surgeon was, though it was apparent he still had control over himself, not giving in the situation completely, which Mulcahy appreciated as he felt like they should at first deal with a bit different issue.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, quickly searching for Hawkeye’s eyes to assure him immediately he had done nothing wrong. He did not want to give him any time or space for second guessing, but Hawkeye’s eyes remained closed, his lips parted as he was breathing hard. Mulcahy savoured the sight in front of him and a tender smile appeared on his lips while he brushed a spring of Hawkeye’s greying hair from his face. Another shiver went through his body, but this time it had nothing to do with his state of arousal. It was caused purely by the realization how beautifully it felt to be so close to Hawkeye, not mentioning the kiss, however, he noticed also the feeling of freedom spreading within every fibre of his body.

Upon this kiss, he felt so free, so unbound…

Yet he remembered there were things they were supposed take care of and he aimed at reminding it to Hawkeye as well, though when the other man finally looked at him, still puzzled, but with a spark of happiness shining his eyes, all the words died in Mulcahy’s throat. He had to clear it to make his voice work, so he could say:

“Before we… before we proceed to whatever we would please,” Mulcahy started quite awkwardly, however, the corner of Hawkeye’s lips twitched a little upward. “We should write the letter.”

“Yes,” recognition reached Hawkeye’s eyes as he recalled the reason he ventured into Mulcahy’s tent in the first place. “Yes, of course, let’s do it,” he nodded with determination, recollecting himself admirably quickly, though his hair was still dishevelled which Mulcahy absolutely loved.

“How… how the diary ended anyway?” Hawkeye asked as Mulcahy returned to his previous position at the table, but turning his eyes back on Hawkeye whom he had never seen so… out of place, so fragile… it struck his heart violently, trying to cajole him into going back to Hawkeye’s personal space, at least with his hand that was right away clutched by Hawkeye’s one. The surgeon smiled timidly, and again, he entirely baffled Mulcahy who was quite sure Hawkeye had never acted like this with women. It just did not fit him, it…

“With the outbreak of the war, parents of the other boy were able to protect Arthur from draft, but soon he started to feel guilty. Six months ago he returned to the army, then got transferred to Korea,” Mulcahy answered almost absentmindedly as he was still captivated by Hawkeye’s demeanour. “The rest of the diary deals only with his longing for Riley… how much he missed him… loved him…”

“So it was the diary that… made you understand certain things?” raised Hawkeye another question which was more like a disguised statement.

“You could put it like that,” Mulcahy squeezed Hawkeye’s hand. “It helped me to see through my ignorance of… of my tendencies,” he blushed a bit when he was talking so honestly with another man, “and also of my neglected feelings toward you. Collins’ diary just stopped me from following the path I was on, and showed me there is another way. Much more different way, a way that was never meant for me, but I… tried to take it.”

“I’m glad you did,” slipped out of Hawkeye mouth as he smiled mildly. “However, the ignorance was a bliss for you… I’ve spent uncountable hours in dissuading myself from my feelings for you, opting for different methods of dubious moral quality, but… I might’ve succeeded haven’t I seen you yesterday in the mess tent. You looked so small, so lost within your thoughts. It hurt to see you like this...”

Mulcahy figured it out from the manner Hawkeye happily accepted his kiss, and how eager he was to reciprocate, but to hear it aloud, moreover, to see the sincerity in Hakweye’s face as he spoke to him so openly… That made his own heart ache with affection. It still seemed to him quite unreal, the whole rapid chain of events leading to the very moment when they were holding hands and gazing at each other with the highest level of fondness. He knew there would be many obstacles for him and also for them together to face, but he wanted this. He wanted to try to have a decent relationship with another human being, furthermore with such a beautiful soul Benjamin Franklin Pierce definitely was.

Additional words were not necessary. They understood each other, they trusted each other. There was respect, love, and the most beautiful kind of intimacy among them, which fuelled more blood into Mulcahy’s cheeks, and slightly blushing, he leaned into the other man, meeting his lips in the middle. He felt so light and free when kissing Hawkeye tenderly, and he trembled strongly as Hawkeye’s tongue licked upon his bottom lip.

“Hawkeye…” he breathed out, narrowing himself to look at Hawkeye’s face, noticing how content and… and happy he seemed to be, and the following question Hawkeye asked aimed right at his heart, making it swell with love.

“How should I call you now? Father doesn’t feel right anymore,” Hawkeye chuckled, and Mulcahy found him utterly adorable at that moment, and the respect toward him Hawkeye showed once again struck him immensely. “Would be John alright?”

“Yes, it would be very alright,” Mulcahy smiled lovingly at the surgeon, relishing in the way his own name sounded when spoken in Hawkeye’s manly voice.

“Okay, John,” said Hawkeye like he was trying to get use to the name, making Mulcahy shiver as the vibration of Hawkeye’s voice were sending echoes of mild arousal through him.

This moment was certainly one of the most remarkable ones in his entire life, thought John before he kissed Hawkeye again, not able to deny this delicate touch of the other man’s mouth for too long.

However, upon their next parting, Mulcahy decided it was time to finish up his duty, and he turned again to the letter, reluctantly pulling his hand away from Hawkeye’s to take a pen. And then… then they wrote it with all the compassion both of them were able to put into the words, and because the both of them were people possessing a high level of compassion, and because the both of them truly understood Riley’s feelings for Arthur, the letter gradually evolved into something rather personal, rather tender and soft, yet encouraging and assuring the young man that Arthur had been loving him till the end.

“How... how we should sign it?” John hesitated when reaching the bottom of the page.

Hawkeye was silent for a second, rereading the whole letter before he answered:

“I’d suggest we didn’t send it like this as, by an unfortunate coincidence, your handwriting could be recognized,” Hawkeye glanced at Mulcahy briefly. “But I’ll borrow Klinger’s typewriter for the night, I’ll rewrite it, and think of some proper name we should be able to send it under… Maybe _Your friends_ or something like that.”

“You know you do not have to do it,” said John, touched by Hawkeye’s offer. Moreover, it was a good idea.

“It’s the least I could do for Collins,” Hawkeye shrugged with a rueful shadow casted upon his face. “And for you as well,” he smiled mildly.

“Thank you,” John reciprocated the gesture, and just like that, out of spite, he reached for Hawkeye’s hand to clasp it in his own as he might have been trying to say much more, which he was not able to announce aloud now.

“Anytime, John,” clutched Hawkeye the other man’s hand firmly, yet gently, as his blue yes mirrored understanding, springing from the bottom of Hawkeye’s soul. “Always at your service.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s not perfect. I know the story deals more with the life of Arthur P. Collins than with the main pairing, but to be honest, I am quite proud of this work. I’ve always wanted to write something like this - to make Mulcahy realize his true feelings for Hawkeye thanks to a soldier’s diary. 
> 
> However, I’m afraid, I have no intentions of writing another fiction with this pairing. I’m very fond of it, but currently, I’m more interested in other pairings concerning Hawkeye. Maybe sometimes in the future, who knows?


End file.
